Out Of Control
by Alex Emsworth
Summary: <html><head></head>Yamamoto's vision of their relationships and the mafia itself.</html>


_All these years I've been wondering how could it come to the point where we're now, to the dirty bloody point of no return._

_Back then, it all indeed started like a game, and I even now can't say for sure when it began to be that serious. Was it during the so-called Ring Conflict when I first sensed the smell and taste of blood? Or was it in the time that according to the Arcobaleno doesn't even exist now, the time that we have succesfully changed for the sake of the hundreds of worlds? Or was it much later, when I first killed a man who didn't even mean to attack me, but whose death was essential for our existence? The answer is no, no, and no, - I guess there was no such thing as a turning point at all. _

_It was much easier for me to pretend it was just a game. Much easier to simply do what I was told to, whether it was Tsuna or Reborn, or Cavallone - or even Squalo - who I received the order from. Much easier not to think about anything, much easier not to take anything seriously. I was used to that not-thinking, and I wanted things to remain that way - but the truth is, I was just bored, and I unconsciously admitted it when I somehow agreed to participate in your underground mafia games._

_Tsuna was truly amazing and something new to me, but you were not just something new, you were something completely different - it was your appearance that made me give up my not so quiet, but simple and steady life. I agreed with anything you did, no matter was it your constant desire to blow everything you considered disrespectful and harmful to your dearly beloved Tenth up, or your attitude towards me, all these names you called me, emphasising my passion for sport, which was slowly fading every day I spent with you or the kid, you just never noticed until I killed five people cold-bloodedly just because they were a menace for the Family. Well, I guess they were not that of a menace - they just marched in the streets shouting that they were going to kill Vongola the Tenth and establish the new 'royal dynasty of the underground world'. Funnily enough, I've never considered us to be any kind of royalty, and they actually seemed drunk, but I knew that you would definitely go after them, and I decided to do all the dirty work before you even thought of it - as the true Requiem Rain, which always comes in before the Storm. And I will definitely never forget the look in your eyes; you seemed fascinated and amused - and there was even some kind of fear, something that I saw only on that day when I was beaten by Genkishi, when we were parted in the Merone base because of that Irie Shoichi. Back then, at the base, you cried my name, and in that dirty Italian street you whispered it in the way I've never heard from you, not even towards Tsuna - it was not the point when I understood all the seriousness of mafia, but the point when I understood that I'd kill as much as it'd be needed as long as I receive that beautiful whisper of yours in return._

_Used to not-thinking and holding on to baseball, I was somehow confused by the fact that there was no baseball in the mafia; I imagined my sword to be kind of a bat, but it was no use; there was nothing to hold on to, and in my desperate attempts to find something of the kind I found myself always turning to you in my thoughts. Watching you shout and set things on fire, watching you almost bow to Tsuna calmed me down during the hard times, because it was something that never changed, but it made me furious when everything went as it was supposed to; somehow I understood that it was pure jealousy - even that much of an idiot as I was able to manage that. I thought of you as of something to stop me from falling even deeper, I thought of Tsuna as of something to keep us together, ignoring the blood and pain and all that darkness that surrounded us. I thought and thought and thought - I've never dwelled upon anything that much as I dwelled upon you, and I did all those stupid things that pissed you off that often only so that you will pay more attention to me. I was desperate to make you like me, desperate to make you need me; standing in the dark alley surrounded by the slices of the bodies that were still warm and listening to you softly whisper my name, letter by letter, syllable after syllable I understood that I had succeeded in that. We were eighteen; only four years have passed since we met, four years of my constant trying to convince you that you needed me. Me, not Tsuna._

_One more year has passed before I could touch you in the way I've always wanted to; we were on a mission, and I took advantage of that, knowing that you were somehow heated up by murdering. I took advantage of your hard breathing, of your blood that ran out of your scratches - nothing more, because I would never let any bloody bastard other than me lay a finger on you. It was power you understood the best, and I, of course, played dirty, but I saw no way other than that; no way other than harshly pushing you against the wall, kissing, licking and biting you till the I could taste your blood. Maybe there was some other way, but I couldn't care less, I acted like a hound dog, turned on by the smell of blood, almost ripping your clothes off, even when I understood that you were responding to my actions. Too concerned with you, too excited with the fact I was probably raping you, too busy with leaving seals of my possession all over your body I didn't even hear the sound of the gun you fired in order to kill someone who was going to interrupt us, registering it post factum as cold metal of the gun you still held touched my bare back as you swirled your hands around my neck, turning me on even more, if that was even possible. My only attempt was to completely waste you, make you moan out of pleasure mixed up with pain, make you ask for more, make you addicted to me, my hands, my whole body, make you say, whisper, cry my name over and over again in so many tones as you could. _

_It was all about me from the very beginning and I knew it, I just couldn't help being overpowered by the pure, almost animal desire to tear you apart; what I didn't know was that you were quite the same as me. Neither of us could tell when emotional longing for each other became physical, when hard, violent sex became the one and only expression of our feelings, but we didn't care either, as if the world has shrunk to the two of us. Thrusting deeper and deeper, making you hold on me tighter, I knew that I couldn't love you more, I couldn't love anyone or anything more, and I knew that we shared this feeling of being bound together, being strongly connected and wishing to never let go of each other, wishing to kill anybody who would think of drawing close to each of us. That night there was no Vongola, no Tsuna, no Reborn, all our life that had lead us up to this seemed surreal and distant, even when we returned to the motel, hardly standing, covered in blood and sweat, exhausted by the massacre and sex - you didn't text your Tenth right away, though all you needed was one or two words. You dragged me into the shower instead, whispering 'later' into my lips with a kiss, as if that night was the only chance to make up for all those years we spent apart, and I, surrendering, kissed you back lighter, much gentler than before, trying to deliver the message of never letting go, the message of wiping away the tears and pain I caused, observing the gruesome wounds on your body as my hands wondered all over it under the deem light, narrowing your world to me, the one and only._


End file.
